


hunger

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jealousy, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: "This is my friend, Sansa Stark." Jon Snow had said.The words had seemed innocent enough at the time, as on had introduced his girlfriend to the previous one, when they had accidently bumped into Ygritte Wilde when exiting their cab. But now, when his body is brimming and trembling with pleasure and his cock is hard, they seem to be the worst he could have ever said.





	hunger

"This is my friend, Sansa Stark." Jon Snow had said. 

The words had seemed innocent enough at the time, as on had introduced his girlfriend to the previous one, when they had accidently bumped into Ygritte Wilde when exiting their cab. But now, when his body is brimming and trembling with pleasure and his cock is hard, they seem to be the worst he could have ever said. 

They had been in attendance at Robb's birthday party, when Jon, still hot and bothered from the impromptu strip club visit Theon had thrown together, had dragged her into the coat room, and they had spent the past ten minutes snogging on a pile of guest coats. He had wanted her, right then and there, but Sansa, perhaps still recovering from being discovered by Rickon "wrestling with Jon" the previous year, had insisted they wait until they returned home. Jon had been disgruntled and tried his best to entice his girlfriend into letting him go down on her in the closet, but had agreed nonetheless, trying not to be too obvious about their desperation as they practically ran from the pub to their cab. 

Perhaps it was the medley of beer and consumed jell-o shots, or just the pure rapturous ecstasy of Sansa's langorous touch, but it had all seemed to rush right to his head, and when Ygritte had slid out of the cab, all wild hair and short skirt, he had been too stunned to speak for one unbearably long moment. 

Ygritte had smiled her uneven smile. "Jon." she had begun. Was it the drinks or did  her Northern accent seem suddenly so stickily thick that he could barely understand it? "It's absolutely _fantastic_ to see you." 

Ygritte had taken his hands and squeezed them as she pressed into him, touching her lips to the slope of his cheek in a sloppy and unwarranted kiss. Had he imagined the way her tongue had darted out to lave across his skin?

Jon had been taken aback, remembering with an angry flush how he had come home early that day all those months ago, when he had heard the churlish moans that had long ago become familiar to him, and he had followed the trail of clothes that were scattered across the floor to their bedroom, thinking that perhaps she really was trying to work out things between them this time, only to find her, the girl he once thought he might marry, on all fours in the middle of his bed, being fucked by her boss, a man she had promised Jon she felt no attraction for, in a way she had never been with Jon. 

"Ygritte." Jon had said, through tightly gritted teeth. Sansa's hand had slipped out of their place in his back pocket to flex slightly into his hip, a sign of comfort or jealousy he did not know. "What are you doing here?"

"Got a date." Ygritte had said, unabashedly proud. Jon had tried to pull his hand from her grasp but she hadn't allowed it, holding tight to his fingers, and beside him he had felt Sansa bristle, though she retained her polite smile nevertheless.

Then, for the first time she had allowed her green eyes to cut to Sansa, raking superciliously over the body Jon had come to know so well. Jon had not missed the way that Ygritte, despite knowing exactly who Sansa was and what she meant to him, had extended her hand. "Are you are..." she had asked, offering a look she clearly thought was sweetly innocent.

And then Jon, having watched the withering look that passed between the two women, had said the worst words he could possibly could have: "This is my friend, Sansa Stark." 

Once in the cab the night progresses normally, not even an inkling of displeasure upon her face to show Jon that Sansa is angry. He closes the door behind her and circles to the other side, slipping into the back of the hackney and letting out the breath he had been holding since he had first left the party. 

"That was weird." he says, a clear attempt to break whatever tension he thinks he sees. 

Sansa agrees, holding out her hand so that he may take it, and he brushes his lips lightly over her knuckles, lingering slightly on the ring he had bought her for their first Valentine's day together. 

They don't snog in the back of the cab, as they often do when the temptation to touch each other is just too strong to resist, but when they return to the flat Jon shares with Robb, and unofficially with the two younger Stark girls, he feels Sansa slip her hand into his back pocket as they walk toward the lift. 

The alcohol has not left his system, nor has it dissipated from where the hazy liquour has pooled in his head. A tingle shifts down his spine as she squeezes his arse gently before her hands are slipping beneath his shirt and running up his back, her nails scraping down his shoulders as they have so many blissful nights. 

The rest of the Stark's remain at the party, he knows, and is tempted to toss her down on the couch and fuck her right there in the living room, but she was already moving passed him, her fingers skating down his forearm so that she could take his hand. 

She pulls him along behind her, throwing an arousing but bright grin over her shoulder that makes heat pool in his belly, and it begin to filter slowly down to his cock as he sees her kick off her heels and begin to work at the buttons of her jeans. Jon is clumsy as he follows behind, making a mess of removing his shoes and socks and trying to pull off his jacket at the same time. 

"I want you." he growls, already panting. Though he might have said it anyway, just to see her blush, the beer seems to have made him bold, and he holds her close, nuzzling lightly against her neck. "I want my mouth on you. I want to be inside of you." 

Jon moves to kiss her but her fingers are on his lips first, stopping him before he can touch her, and he gently pushes him back. He swells with pride as the realisation that she was breathless too. 

"I need to freshen up. I'll just be a minute." she says and before he can protest, she is flitting away to the loo and he is watching her hips sway as she walks. 

Like a green boy aching to be touched for the first time, Jon throws off his clothes. He thinks he should have taken a cup of coffee to go and wonders if he has time to duck into the kitchen, but before he can decide the bathroom door is opening and Sansa is stepping out.

The lingerie stretches over her body as though it is a second skin, dark black with a few small red beads that accentuate the colour of her hair. The fabric is thinner and more see through than one of her mother's table doilies, and Jon thinks they might be made of the same fabric. The neck is cut down to her belly button, so that he can see the pale hills of her breasts and aches to let his face rest in the valley between them, and when she does a quick turn he can see that the underwear is a thong, revealing almost more of her than he would see if she were completely naked. 

"Did you-" he begins, unconsciously letting his tongue run across his lips at the sight of her. "Did you have that on all night?"

And he had thought that her party clothes were sexy, a pair of tight blue jeans and a velvet tank top, just low enough to show a tantalising sliver of her breasts, but now he thinks he would burn those and any others for a chance to see her in this. 

"Yes." she says, and bites her bottom lip. 

Jon isn't sure if it's the liquor or the way she is letting her hands skate exploratorily down her body, but he can feel his legs give way beneath him, and soon he is collapsing into the chaise before the window. 

Her feet are bare, lightly padding across the room until she stands before his chair, and the lace of her lingerie seems almost thinner when he is so close. It is almost a challenge as she stands so many heads above him, her willowy frame swaying as though there were a breeze, her body lavishing in the feel of the hands upon her. 

A charged moment passes between them and when she sinks into his lap they become all lips and tongues and grasping fingers. She takes his bottom lip between her teeth and gently bites down, at the same moment rolling her hips so that she makes him groan in pain and pleasure. 

His cock, already stirring at the sight of her, has hardened completely against her touch, pressed to her belly in a way that makes her moan softly. Her long fingers ghost over the head of him and suddenly Jon is furious at himself for not slipping off his shorts when he had kicked off his jeans. 

Jon lowers his mouth from her rosy lips and presses a set of kisses against her collarbones, smiling as he feels her shiver in response. His mouth continues on its journey, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses against her bare skin, until his face can lay in the hollow between her breasts, his lips parting so that he can take her nipple into his mouth, his tongue sweeping across the soft lace.

Her hand fists in his hair as her head falls back in pleasure at the feel of his hot breath upon her but before long he switches to her other breast, feeling it like a peach, soft and plump and just as sweet beneath his hand. 

"Gods, Jon." she moans, and he wants to devour her. 

Her legs have parted, falling open to bracket his thighs, and as she arches her back her hands fly to his shoulders to steady herself. His blood is humming, practically singing for the pleasure of her touch.

Her long hair lays down her back in a downpour of auburn silk and it smells of the same sweet, flowery soaps that she bathes with each night, those which make his sheets smell of her even when hours have passed since she has laid in them, those which, just once or twice, he has found himself using when she is away and he longs for her. 

The beer and the lingerie and the high, plaintive sounds she is making have all gone to his head. In her arms Jon can barely breathe, so intoxicated by her, even her very presence, that just the smell of the hair that falls around his face makes him grow harder against her. She is moving too slow and he groans, trying to shift her body in his arms so he can seek the friction he so desperately craves. 

His hands glide over her, trailing every inch of her body as though he is a man starved of touch, his hips lifting off the chaise to roll against her. He is delighted to find the hand that falls between her legs shows how wet she is for him. He is panting and his chest heaves against hers, feeling her soft cunt through the thin layer of fabric that hides her from him.

Sansa lets out a yelp, slapping her hands down upon his shoulders as he pulls the lingerie apart, the jarring sound of ripping fabric breaking through the otherwise dominating sounds of sex. 

"This is new!" she protests and rolls her eyes, but the way the corners of her mouth twitch show that she is not truly mad. 

"I don't care." Jon pants, and he doesn't. 

They both know he always replaces what he destroys in the haste of his desperation, replacing torn fabric and broken zippers with new gifts so lovely and becoming that it is all he can do not to dive between her legs right there in the changing rooms. 

He clears his throat, hoping to swallow the whines of desperation that claw at him and shifts positions, letting her legs fall more widely open around him so that his fingers can find and circle the spot on her cunt that never ceases to make her thrash. 

Her manicured nails bite into his breast. "Gods, you're so beautiful." he professes, for a moment overcome by the angelic frame of red hair around her face. "I want you, Sansa. I want to make you come, my sweet girl." 

The rest of her lingerie is pulled apart and away without further protest, baring her to his rapacious gaze. Jon cups the soft dune of her breast, his thumb running across the nipple that has pebbled under his warm breath and now stands at attention, waiting to be taken between his teeth. 

He stands and lifts her with him, so he can shove his shorts down over his strong thighs and kick them off, basking in the way her eyes roll rakishly down his muscular frame, and, feeling proud under her wanton gaze, Jon stands a bit taller. 

He hisses as her hand curls around his cock, warm bare flesh on warm bare flesh, and for a moment he has to force his mind to clear, out of fear of coming right then and there. Sansa traces the exposed veins that ripple down the length of his twitching cock, as curious as if it were her first time doing so. She lets her nails scrape gently down the length of him and he smiles, cradling her face in his hands and letting his fingers caress her cheek, so full of love and affection that he thinks he might just burst. 

Sansa lets her eyes fall closed against his touch, her cheek pressing against his palm as he strokes it gently. He wonders how it is possible to look so innocent and angelically sweet, when she still has her hands wrapped around his cock. 

He lifts her head to claim her mouth with ravenous heat, wanting to swallow her whole, to feel her around him and beneath him and against him in any and every way she wishes. Perhaps they might fuck in the living room after all. 

"We're friends, huh?" Sansa Stark asks then, but Jon is moaning so loud that he has barely heard her. 

She pulls away from him and a whine bursts up from the back of his throat at the loss of contact. She shakes her head, clicking her tongue at him in the way his Septas once had. "I don't think we're friends. Friends don't kiss each other here—" she presses her lips to his chest, her tongue swirling across his nipple. "—or here—" she moves to run her tongue along the ridges of muscle on his trembling belly. 

She is on her knees before him, and Jon curses any and every word he has ever said, would take them back if he could, would declare anything she wants if only she would just touch him. "—and friends most certainly do not kiss _here_." she finishes and presses her lips to the head of his cock. 

He jerks so hard that for a moment Jon fears he might tumble out of his chair. She takes his cock between her lips and ghosts her tongue across him. Jon's hips twitch, seeking purchase in her mouth, but she has him pinned. 

"I don't think we're friends." she continues. When he lifts his head to look down upon her he finds that she is already meeting his eye, her blue eyes so full of desire and mischief and lust that he could almost spend right then and there. 

"What do you think?" she asks, and twists her head. He wants to ask where she has learned to torture a man so, where she has taken these classes that are making him unravel before her, but he can barely even speak to answer her question, let alone pose his own. 

When he does not answer Sansa cocks her head to the side and releases him. He nearly roars in frustration, his hips following as she rocks back on her heels. 

"Are we friends, Jon?" she asks again. "Friends like you and Robb? Friends like you and Sam?" 

"No." he growls and reaches for her. She seems pleased with that answer, for her lips are upon him again. Almost as soon as her touch returns, so does the heat in his belly, redolent heat coiling like a snake in the space between his belly and his cock. "We're not friends."

He lets his hips rock against her, his hand resting lightly upon the back of her head, smoothing down the red hair he loves so truly. She takes him all the way to the hilt and hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating through her throat and continuing on right into him, and her mouth is so tight and so warm and so loved that they both know he cannot last much longer. 

She pulls away again and this time Jon does roar in frustration, and they are glad that the flat remains empty, for certainly Robb or Arya would have come to investigate such a sound. 

"The next time we meet someone—" she asks and rakes her nails down his trembling thighs. "Will you introduce me as your friend?" 

"No. No." he gasps, pressing toward her. He would have signed his very soul over to her if she had wanted it. "Sansa, you're mine!" he shouts. "You're mine and I'm yours!" he is yelling but he does not care, his desperation is so great. 

"Only yours!" Jon says and seizes her shoulders so that he can kiss her, propelling every ounce of want and need and desperation into his kiss. 

"Yes." Sansa says and pushes him onto his back. "You're mine. Only mine." 

He slips into her easily, the wetness that hid between her thighs so great that he need not take his time in claiming her. He gasps into her shoulder at the tightness of the folds pulsating around him and before he can even acclimate to the overwhelming pleasure of this, her back is arching and her hips are circling, and there is no mistaking she is close as well. 

It takes mere moments for Jon to shout that he is coming, pitched headlong into the pleasure of his long-awaited orgasm, and cries out her name, that he is hers and she is his, and with a few more snaps of his hips against hers, Sansa is there too, so incredibly taut that he fears she might just snap. 

Jon holds her through the depths of their aftershocks and gingerly cradles her against him, surrendering to her touch and her claim. He kisses her, tasting the sweet nectar of her tongue as it brushes teasingly against his, still breathless from the exertion of orgasm. 

He brushes the hair from her face and though he thinks that he barely has the energy to lift his own body, he gathers her up in his arms and carries her across the room before collapsing, and letting them both fall into a tangled, sated heap onto the bed they have come to share. 

Jon pulls the blankets over their bodies, feeling Sansa tuck herself against his side, humming softly in pleasure. He pulls her closer, so that she may lay her tired head upon his chest, and she brushes her lips across his, so tender and soft that it is as though she had not just brought him to orgasm with her wantonness. 

For a moment they only lay there, curled together like kittens, perfectly quiet and content to be so. 

But Jon can feel the words he has been pushing away for months begin to burst forth, as they almost always did when he is basking in the hedonistic pleasure of post-sex enjoyment with his woman. 

"I love you." Jon says and it is for the first time. She lifts her head to prop her chin upon his chest, and when she looks at him her lovely eyes are so full with love and pleasure that Jon thinks himself a fool for ever thinking she might not reciprocate. 

"I love you, Sansa." he repeats, and the relief of finally confessing the words is nearly overcoming him. "I meant what I said. There is only you. I want you and no one else." 

"I love you too, Jon." she says, humming against his lips, as he deepens the kiss he hopes will show his authenticity. She nuzzles her nose affectionately against his, her fingers twisting into the dark curls of his hair as she gives herself over to him. "I'm so glad we're _friends_." 

He laughs, and can already feel his cock begin to stir again.


End file.
